Mind Over Mussels Read online

  Nathan drove Lili to the Hall for the meeting. His eyes never left her as she glided down the pathway and through the door. As for Lili, her inner calm was unbalanced from meeting Nathan, and she understood for the first time what people meant when they said they had butterflies in their stomachs. She would have to find her calm again, before the meeting, if she was to lead the women in a meaningful meditation.

  She entered the Hall, unrolled her mat, and sat down in the lotus position, hands perched on her knees, and began the long, low hum.

  “Ommmmmm…”

  Ben Mack watched Annabelle come out of the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel, her long slim legs glistening with moisture. He couldn’t understand why she thought she needed to get fit. He thought her body was perfect. She was tall, with legs that looked great in jeans or heels, or best of all, right now, with nothing on them. He crossed the room, and slipped the towel off her. She was not thin in the popular way – she had a well-rounded figure, with well-proportioned breasts, waist, and hips. Ben loved every inch of her – and swore he’d divorce her if she ever got to look like “that Angelina Jolly.” He wondered why she was called jolly. She always looked grim and determined to him.

  There was little chance of Annabelle losing her curves. She loved food. Getting fit wasn’t about weight, she’d told Ben. It was all about flexibility.

  She didn’t need to work on that either, he thought, as he bent her back onto the bed in their “Love Shack” at Big Bay Harbour. It was a fishing shed he and his son Nathan, and Nathan’s buddies, had renovated in the spring as a surprise twenty-fifth anniversary gift for Annabelle. Nathan’s friend Dooley kept playing the tune “Love Shack” over and over again as they did the work one long weekend. He played it so often, that by the end of the weekend even Ben knew all the words, of which there weren’t many. Ben was playing the song in his truck and singing along when he drove an amused and curious Annabelle to the harbour on the eve of Setting Day, the opening of lobster season.

  They had always spent that night aboard their boat, and the plan was to do the same with the shed, but it was so comfortable, so well-equipped, they’d decided to spend the entire summer there, renting their beautiful Victorian home for thousands a week during tourist season. Exactly how much they charged, they were embarrassed to say. But they needed the money, with it costing five hundred dollars, or more, a day just to put their boat on the water.

  The woman who’d rented their house for the last week of August had hardly been seen. April Dewey, who lived next door, said the blinds had been closed night and day. People reported rare sightings of her – always at dusk or dawn, on the cape, near the dome or down at the shore. No one had spoken to her. Only Gus. And she’d been sworn to secrecy.

  It wasn’t easy for Gus to keep what she knew to herself. But she’d given her word. She’d said nothing. Not even to Hy.

  The ladies had been surprisingly willing to take part in the yoga session. Some had bought track suits, others had borrowed sweatshirts and sweatpants from their daughters or granddaughters, in a bit of a giggle about what they were going to be doing this month at “Institute.”

  The fitness craze had finally hit The Shores right on schedule – about twenty years behind everywhere else. It had been spurred by the arrival of Big Ed Bullock, the founder and owner of the Mind over Muscle fitness empire. Some of the men, like Jared MacPherson, had bought his system. Some, like Ben, wouldn’t go near it. He was a big man. Not really fat. Just bigger than anyone else. When Ed had arrived at The Shores, Annabelle Mack had put Ben on a heart-healthy diet.

  He’d gained weight.

  Though he loved his wife, and couldn’t bear to be apart from her, Ben had begun to follow his much older brother Abel in and out of April’s kitchen, the pair competing for her leftovers. Ben would leave April’s, the crumbs spilling down his chest from a mouthful of muffins.

  Noticing the crumbs in the cab of his truck, Annabelle realized what Ben had been up to. She didn’t say a word. She went back to feeding him as she always had – a steak, mounds of potatoes slathered with butter, and a small serving of vegetables, with muffins, cookies, squares, and fudge for “lunch” before bed.

  The visits to April’s ended.

  Ben lost weight.

  Murdo was peeking in MacAdam’s front window. He couldn’t see much through the slit at the edge of the blind. They were all closed. He tried the door. Unusually for The Shores, the doors – front and back – were locked. He had better luck at the shed. It was unlocked. Inside were tools, a lawn tractor, overalls, various kinds of boots, and, on the wall, guns and axes. Guns and axes – wasn’t that the name of a rock group? Murdo supposed they should tag the axes as evidence, although none looked as if it had been used recently. They were, clean, polished, well-cared-for instruments of – what? Death? There appeared to be one missing – a space below an empty hook on the wall.

  Murdo made a note of number and type, and secured the door with yellow police tape, which immediately tore free and began dancing on the wind.

  Billy reached for the doorbell. He felt funny. Not just because it was a bunch of cowbells attached to a leather strap, but it felt weird to ring any kind of doorbell. In The Shores, people didn’t have them. He was saved – but not by the bell. The door opened before he had a chance to ring.

  There stood the strangest man Billy had ever seen. Short muscular Leone, with his deeply creased face and broad, flat nose, dark hair that started low down on his forehead and was swept back. A large mouth and teeth to match.

  “Can I help you?”

  “There’s been a death,” Billy gulped out. Through the doorway, he could see Ed Bullock, sitting at a table, eating. Like a normal human. His hero. Eating breakfast, like anyone else.

  “Ah, yes,” Leone nodded. “Yes, we know…”

  Billy’s mouth came wide open.

  “How could you?”

  Leone gestured up to the rooftop gazebo.

  “From here, we see everything. Come in. Come in.”

  If Leone was the strangest human Billy had ever seen, this was the strangest cottage he’d ever been in. Not just from the outside, but inside. Like a high-tech igloo. The walls were rounded on all sides, and covering them was a gallery of photographs of beautiful, glamorous women. Big Ed sitting in the centre of it all.

  Big Ed. Billy was sure he’d had all sorts of beautiful, glamorous women, every one of those photographed around the walls. But he was wrong. Ed hadn’t had all these women himself. Leone had helped him have them – in his imagination. Made him believe, for a moment, that he’d come back from Vietnam whole. Leone found the photos helped fuel the fantasy.

  There was only one woman either of them really wanted and had never had.

  Her. They’d both just been marking time on the way to her.

  The time to have her was nearly here.

  She’d promised it.

  To both of them.

  And to Lance Lord.

  Chapter Nine

  The next band of rain held off, and the thirteen women of Institute – minus one – were gathered in the Hall. Hy ran in, out of breath and only just in time to introduce Lili. As she burst through the door, her eyes darted around the room, and fixed on Annabelle and Gus. They were both thinking the same thing and nodded at each other. Hy, running to catch up with herself.

  Hy was desperate to tell her two friends about Lance Lord, and gave them a wild, wide-eyed look they couldn’t interpret. They noticed her agitation, her stuttering introduction of Lili Acorn. They guessed something was going on, but had no idea what.

  “Your body is a temple,” the lithe Lili began. Hers certainly was, thought Annabelle. Boyish. Small-breasted. Not an ounce of fat on it. She had dark black hair, cut shorter at the back than front, slicing forward in perfect geometry to skim her sculptured cheeks.

  “It is a sacred vessel.”r />
  Gus looked down the line of thirteen chairs upon each of which, with the exception of Hy and the well-formed Annabelle, rested a plump posterior.

  “It should contain only the rich goodness of life.”

  April Dewey was smug. Her baked goods contained only the best quality – real butter, whole milk, heavy cream, cake flour.

  “Surround it with calm.”

  Pink can be a soothing colour, but the pink of the Hall had been an economic choice. Treasurer Olive MacLean had bought the paint, and she erred on the side of the Institute bank book. On sale. Much too pink. Soothing? Calm? No.

  “Your body – your holy vessel…”

  Annabelle glanced down the line of ladies. Holy out of shape, Batman, she thought, an expression she’d picked up from her son Nathan, who was prone to spouting popular phrases, even when they were out of date. As soon as his mother picked them up, he dropped them, knowing they must be hopelessly out of date.

  The women were wearing new or borrowed sweatshirts and pants, all except Gus. She’d never worn a pair of pants, apart from dungarees the odd time, picking berries, and she wasn’t going to start now in her eighties. There would be no rolling around on the floor for her.

  None of the women, except Annabelle and Hy, would have considered slim-fitting leggings and form-fitting tops like the little instructor wore. After her speech, Lili got them on the floor, onto mats Hy had bought when Institute president Gladys Fraser confronted her, hands on hips, asking did she expect them to roll around in the dust? Hy had been tempted to say something about the floor being clean enough to eat off, but held her tongue and bought the mats. The women grunted and groaned their way down onto them.

  Lili put herself into a pretzel shape with no effort, but the ladies grimaced with each inch they bent over or tilted sideways. Annabelle was the exception. She turned out to be good at it, and began helping Lili ease the women into bending their bodies into unimagined positions. Hy followed along, but was preoccupied with wondering where Lord’s body was. Wondering what Jim MacAdam had to say. Wondering who the killer was. Wondering what was going on with Ian and Suki up on Shipwreck Hill. Like a cat, Hy was curious – always poking her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d been the first up to inspect the dome when it was being built, the one who’d found out Ed Bullock was coming, and the only one who’d been inside his house. Hy enjoyed the shocked faces when she’d told Gus and Annabelle, Gladys and April and Ian she’d seen it. She liked to be the one with the information.

  But she was a washout at meditation. She wasn’t alone. All the women were lousy at it. They lay rigid on their mats as Lili guided them through relaxing each part of their bodies.

  “Feel the relaxation spread…”

  Gladys Fraser couldn’t relax anything. She was wound up as tight as she always was, anger pulsing through her body. Why had she let them rope her into this fool thing? Lying down at the start of the day? And such a day. With the wind and the rain, they’d be lucky to get home, and not end up sleeping the night on these mats.

  “Relax your knees…relax your knees…”

  Dolly Fraser, Gladys’s sister-in-law, could feel only pain in her knees. She’d been putting off surgery, but would have to do something about it soon.

  “Waves of relaxation move from your thighs to your buttocks…”

  Madeline Toombs went red. She was glad her sister Moira wasn’t around to hear that word said out loud in the Hall. Moira had begged off attending the yoga sessions, claiming she was too busy, tomorrow being “changeover day,” the day the cottages were cleared out and cleaned. Some were already empty and needed to be closed-down for the season. The real reason she wasn’t there was that she refused to wear a track suit. She’d flipped through the Sears catalogue and hadn’t found anything she would wear.

  “Feel the relaxation spread to your stomach…”

  April’s gave a small growl. She’d had only a muffin for breakfast. She started to think about the fat content of her white cake. If she was to treat her body as a temple, did that mean she should keep the butter in her icing, or substitute it with margarine? The thought sent a shiver of anxiety from her toes to her head.

  “Relax your back…relax your back…”

  Olive MacLean thought if she could do that, she wouldn’t be here. Lili’s words only made her more aware of the nagging ache in her shoulder blades.

  “Relax your jaw…”

  This was one of the few times Estelle Joudry had ever been silent. She spent most days, all day, on the phone gabbing. Keeping her mouth shut made her feel tense everywhere else.

  “…feel your mind like a smooth lake…”

  There were no lakes on the island, thought Gus. Ponds, yes. She was sitting straight up in her chair, eyes dutifully closed.

  “…no ripples…no waves…calm as the ocean…”

  That set Annabelle off. The ocean wasn’t calm today. Would The Annaben be damaged? It was securely tied, but…

  “…you are completely relaxed…”

  Rose Rose, the minister’s wife, was not relaxed. She was concerned that, as a practicing Anglican, she should not be here lying on her back, seeking solace in some heathen belief.

  Hy wasn’t relaxed either. All she could think about was Lord. All she could see, that pus-filled wound. Who? Who would do such a thing? MacAdam? Surely not. A bear of a man – but still a neighbour.

  As they lay there for the requisite ten minutes of deep relaxation, the ladies tried not to fidget.

  April Dewey had decided on butter. Definitely stick with the butter. If her body was a temple, it should contain only the best ingredients.

  Gladys was wondering when this would be over.

  Madeline was thinking she’d have to hide her track suit from Moira, who didn’t know she’d bought one.

  Olive MacLean was taking peeks at the dust on the floor of the Hall. It would have to be mopped.

  Estelle Joudry was wondering whether the hero of her favourite soap was going to come back as a vampire. He’d been buried yesterday, but he’d been with the show twenty years. She was sure he wasn’t going anywhere. And the ratings would soar with a Dracula on the show.

  Annabelle had gone from thinking about boat repairs to the accounting she’d shoved aside all summer and would have to do soon.

  Hy was still wondering about MacAdam, Jamieson’s number one suspect. Could he be guilty of murder? Maybe, if riled, but the wound was in the back of the head. That wouldn’t happen in an argument. That was an attack. Could Jim get mad and stay mad long enough to do something like that? To ambush Lord, to plan to kill him? What was that called? Premeditated. The word was like meditation, which she was not managing to do.

  The only truly relaxed people in the Hall were Lili and Gus. Gus had gone into a light doze on her chair, only to be woken as Lili brought the women back from wherever it was they were.

  “Slowly, very gently…lift your right leg…drop it down. Lift your left leg…”

  When it was over, the women creaked, pushed, and pulled themselves up off the floor, then staggered around, unbending their brittle bones, and headed thankfully for the kitchen. They produced a lunch of sandwiches, squares, cookies, and tea. Lili declined it all, eating bean sprouts she’d brought and sipping a special herbal tea.

  She offered some to Annabelle, who, to be polite, accepted. She sipped it, and very nearly spat it out. Tea? Nothing like it.

  At the end of the meeting in the section of their booklets headed “What I Learned Today,” April Dewey wrote:

  “Use butter cream icing.”

  “Don’t lie down after breakfast.” Gladys Fraser.

  “Meditation keeps you afloat.” Annabelle.

  “There’s nothing wrong with wearing a track suit.” Madeline Toombs.

  And Gus: “Estelle Joudry’s mind is like a smooth pond.”


  Most of the women didn’t know what to write. They did have a lot to say about it later, when Hy wasn’t around. Another one of her weird ideas. Not as bad as some in the past, but still…

  Nathan was waiting for Lili when the meeting ended, as if they’d agreed on it. She got into the truck, and he drove her back to Jared’s, their hands locked together on the seat of the cab. They went into the house, hand in hand. They held on to each other all afternoon. Not for an instant did either let go – until Nathan was called out on a terrible mission.

  “I…I…” Billy stuttered in front of his hero.

  Big Ed Bullock. Imagine. Here at The Shores.

  Big Ed did not stand up. He wiped his face with a napkin, crushed it down beside the plate, and inclined his head. Then he smiled.

  Billy was dazzled by the gold front tooth. It was studded with diamonds, spelling out the logo of Big Ed’s fitness empire: MOM.

  “Welcome. How can we help you?” The tooth glinted.

  Billy tried to keep his eyes off it. They landed on the photographs. All glamour shots. Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads. You could tell the colour of their hair, even though they were black and white.

  “There’s been a…”

  All head-and-shoulder shots. Long curly hair. Straight. Short bobs. Big smiles with rows of pearly white teeth, or coy smiles, teeth barely visible. Big generous mouths, pouting lips.

  “Yes, yes, you were saying, a death. Unfortunate. Most unfortunate.”

  There must be dozens of them. With mischievous, sultry, seductive eyes. Perfect makeup. Elegant necks, strung with pearls and diamonds. Did Big Ed know all these women? Had he – ? Billy blushed.

  “I’m to ask everyone not to leave the village until police have spoken to you.”

  Ed smiled. Or was it a smirk?

  “I don’t believe we’re going anywhere.” He looked at Leone, standing behind Billy.